A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.

Chapter 16 - Serendipity

Rosalie picked up an intricately frosted sugar cookie from the three-tiered pastry plate on the antique coffee table. Rather than bite into it, she held the cookie at her eye level, rotating it from side to side to examine its details.

The cookie was cut in the shape of a miniature Victorian gingerbread house, decorated with a door made from a thick layer of bright red frosting, over which dainty sprigs of green frosting wound into a Christmas wreath. The door was flanked by a pair of white frosting gridded windows, and the gabled cookie roof lay blanketed in a layer of snow, forming a garland-shaped cornice that overhung the roof's edges.

All the while, my heart pounded audibly, its muffled beating crowding my ears. "How…" I breathed, "how did things go downhill from there?"

"Well, the new owner didn't take kindly to being so bluntly denied. He grew infuriated." Reaching for the snowy frosting cornice, Rosalie plucked off a piece and popped it into her mouth.

"What did he do?"

She broke off another piece of snowy roof. "He rushed out of the house, and Victoria, already mind-blown after having, for the first time, actually made contact with the other side, picked up her shit and got herself ready to go, paid or not. Then the new owner returned with an axe to grind - literally."

"What?" I spat, jerking forward so fast that I knocked into the small coffee table. The table shook. The objects on top rattled, and the rich brew in my mug spilled over. Fortunately, the saucer caught the spill and kept the lace tablecloth from ruin. Breathing out in relief, I eyed Rosalie.

She slanted much less satisfied eyes my way. "In case you're unaware, returning an eighteenth-century lace cloth to presentable condition isn't easy. I would've added-"

"Yes, yes, you would've added its cost to my bill. I know," I remarked with a smirk, but anxious to return to the story, I forewent suggesting that perhaps she shouldn't use delicate, eighteenth-century lace around coffee.

"I was going to say that I would've added a plastic cover over the tablecloth had I known you were so klutzy," she retorted, then added with a shudder, "but I hate the look of plastic. It's the worst invention ever. It's a cheap material you can use to build almost anything, but it breaks easily, and once broken, it's basically irreparable. Yet, it actually doesn't break down for thousands of years and hangs around, crowding the world in useless garbage. That's why I prefer the old, well-built pieces of the past, especially those crafted with such care that we can still restore them to beautifully useful condition."

I'd never heard Rosalie describe her love for restoration in such terms. Had I not already decided she was the best person for restoring Edward's furniture, that would've done it. Nevertheless, hearing her speech left me with a newfound respect.

"I'm sorry for assuming."

"It's fine." She waved away my apology. "You know what they say about assuming. But had you ruined the tablecloth, I would've added the cost of it to your bill."

I chuckled, but my amusement ceased when I remembered where we were in Rosalie's unexpected tale. "Okay. So, the guy returned with an axe in hand. And?"

"And he scared the hell out of Victoria, obviously." Rosalie splintered off yet another chunk of white frosting from the cookie's roof and slipped it into her mouth. "Scared her even more so than having made contact with the dead terrified her. She thought she was done for. Said her prayers and everything," she added, making the sign of the cross. "Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on one's point of view, instead of swinging at her, the new owner proceeded to use that axe to swing away at the beautiful home and its gorgeous furnishings."

"Holy crap," I breathed.

Now, she broke off a large chunk of the sugar cookie house's bottom right corner. Rather than eating it, she placed it on her saucer. She then broke off another large chunk. And another, and another. Only the house's center – the bright red door, the evergreen wreath, and its snow-capped chimney – remained when she was done.

"He chipped away at the home, swing by swing, all while taunting the dead owner."

"How did he taunt him?"

Partly by shouting, 'Always thinking you're better! What good does that do you now, huh? Mind over matter, my fucking ass!'"

"What else did he shout?" I whispered, moving closer, barely breathing now.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't know. Great-grandma Lauren censored the rest. She said it wasn't meant for little girls' ears."

"Wait a minute." Pulling back, I shot her a look of pure outrage. "You mean to tell me that your Great-grandma Lauren told you a story about your Great-great-grandmother being a séance-conducting medium, who spoke to dead people, and who once conducted a séance where her disgruntled employer axed away at his own home. And then she decided to protect your little girl sensibilities from the rest of the tale?"

Rosalie shrugged. "Perhaps he said things that should've remained unsaid. Perhaps he made revelations that should remain unrevealed. Maybe the new owner spoke in the devil's tongue or shouted sexually deviant shit that would've made Great-grandma Lauren blush to repeat. I don't know."

"That's unacceptable!" I protested, standing up so quickly and throwing my hands up so wildly that I knocked into the table again. This time, coffee indeed sloshed onto the tablecloth. Rosalie jumped up, grabbed napkins, and blotted the coffee. She then slanted narrowed eyes at me, nostrils flaring.

"Oh, add it to my damn bill! Who actually uses their nineteenth-century tablecloth?"

"Eighteenth century! AndIdo!"

"At least tell me what happened next?"

Rosalie sighed and, walking to the trash bin, pitched the dirty napkins in. When her gaze panned to Victoria's portrait, she took her in with undeniable fondness.

"Victoria ran out of that house as if her ass were on fire, her heart breaking all the way out as she heard the new owner still going at it with that axe. Even as she drove off in her Model T, she felt horribly guilty."

"Guilty, why?"

Rosalie swept her eyes to me. "Because she felt indirectly responsible for the ghost's fury. She'd allowed the new owner to use her to wake a sleeping ghost, only for that ghost to realize that all that was wanted from him, all he was missed for was his knowledge of the location of his secret stash. And, as if that wasn't enough, his gorgeous house was now being destroyed at the hands of someone who didn't appreciate it for the treasure it was."

I sat back down as if my legs gave out, limbs heavy while my chest contracted painfully. Tears stung my eyes.

Edward. Poor Edward. As it turned out, he had slept peacefully after his murder – at least, for a while, until awoken by a deep betrayal.

The question was, betrayal by who? And why hadn't Edward ever told me any of this?

"Anyway, according to Great-grandma Lauren, Victoria decided then and there to give up the séance medium life and instead dedicate her life to restoring beautiful homes and furnishings."

For a few moments, we stood around in silence. My thoughts swirled like a bowl of alphabet soup in my head – all the letters were there but jumbled in such a way that they were just gibberish. I definitely needed to think about all this.

"Why didn't he ever tell me- I mean, I've never heard this part of the story," I corrected myself, realizing I'd uttered these mental musings aloud.

When Rosalie burst out laughing, I blinked into the present and jerked my head back.

"What's so funny?"

"Bella, it's just a story!"

My brow furrowed. "But…you said it was a big family secret passed down to you by your Great-grandma Lauren. You said Victoria was a phony medium until she entered the Masen Victorian."

She just kept on laughing, which spiked my irritation and, thereby, the volume of my voice.

"You said your Great-grandma Lauren told you the tale when you were a little girl-"

"My Great-grandma Lauren told me loads of tales when I was a little girl – and they were all exactly that: loads." She chuckled. "She had a complicated one about how the tooth fairy lost her job, which was why she never left me more than fifty cents per tooth, and one about Santa's drinking problem, which was why he always got my presents mixed up and never left me what I'd asked for."

I stared at her.

"It was an origin story, Bella! Like Peter Parker's spider bite or the Amazon Diana being gifted to the world as Wonder Woman? This fictional origin story explains why Victoria left the lucrative medium life behind and developed a deep love and respect for well-crafted furniture. That's all!" Wrapping her arms around her stomach, she continued laughing at my expense.

"Oh, for goodness sake!" I rolled my eyes and headed for the door, hoping I hadn't missed Tony Edwins while I wasted time with Rosalie.

"Wait 'til I tell Emmett how much fun this was! Let's do this again, Bella!"

OOOOO

Tony was still at the front of the shop, which made sense since taking care of the shop was his job. Still, I'd been anxious, perhaps why I'd been so short with Rosalie and her darn storytelling.

Tony was with a customer, a woman in about her forties with a snow-topped black beanie and a black peacoat. The woman stood opposite Tony, both flanking a glass display case full of small knick-knacks – pocket watches, handkerchiefs, pens - though 'stood' perhaps wasn't the correct word. Her upper frame was closer to splayed across the top of the glass display, gazing up at Tony and grinning broadly. She held what looked like a lace handkerchief in her hand, twirling it around her fingers.

He, in turn, leaned against a glass display behind him, his arms crossed across his chest and one ankle casually crossed over the other. When he sensed us in his periphery, his eyes flashed over, shocking me with their blue, mentally still expecting green. His gaze met Rosalie's first. When it panned over to me, I thought I detected a broadening in his pleasant smile, an extra twinkle in his blue eyes. But his attention quickly returned to the woman.

"So what do you think of that handkerchief, ma'am?"

"Well, I don't know. It is gorgeous, but is there anything else you'd like to show me? I'm open to looking at anything and everything." The woman rested her elbows on the glass and her chin on her knit hands, batting her eyelashes up at Tony and giggling. "And, oh my God, please don't call me 'Ma'am'!"

"Well…" Tony scratched his head. "There are some pens…"

"Uhm, pardon me, but no."

As Rosalie rushed past me, the woman quickly straightened. The coquette grin fell from her expression, and the handkerchief she'd been wrapping around her fingers like a Christmas bow fell onto the glass top of the display. She looked abruptly abashed.

"Rosalie!"

"Jessica, if you're going to come in here to flirt with my new assistant, have him show you some of my merchandise, and then abuse said merchandise, you'd better be ready to buy it!"

"I…uh…."

Rosalie picked up the handkerchief from the glass display and examined it. Her eyes grew wide, nostrils flaring as she scowled at the woman – Jessica. Four pairs of eyes turned to the handkerchief, and though I wasn't sure what everyone else saw, I saw nothing aside from perhaps some creases.

"Congratulations," Rosalie said. "You are now the owner of a woman's hand-embroidered handkerchief circa 1887."

Jessica blanched, narrowing her eyes. "How much will that set me back?"

Rosalie's wicked grin was in complete contrast to her angelically white outfit. "Lucky for you, we're having a week-before-Christmas special. It's only two-hundred and ninety-nine dollars this week."

"Two-hundred and ninety-nine-!" Jessica began, but her shoulders slumped, and she expelled a resigned huff. "Can you wrap it for me? I guess my grandma'll like it."

"Great choice," Rosalie snarked. "Of course, I can wrap it." Her eyes met mine. "Bella, call me when you're ready to continue our business. Or give me a call sooner," she grinned teasingly. "We can hang out."

I chuckled. "I will."

Rosalie nodded, turning back to Jessica with a raised brow. "And you, Jessica, follow me. Now, there's a five-dollar charge for Christmas bows, and only brown paper bag wrapping is included for free. If you want one of the fancier papers…" I heard her add as she walked away.

Tony and I watched the women walk over to the store register, and then our eyes met. We chuckled under our breaths. Tony ran a hand through his hair in a manner so familiar that my heart skipped a few startled beats. I still found it hard to believe that I was standing with someone who was, in all likelihood, a flesh-and-blood relative of Edward's.

"Uhm…" I said, unsure how to begin.

Tony walked around the display case toward me, pretending to wipe beads of sweat off his forehead and leaning heavily against this side of the glass display. I chuckled at his antics. He dug his hands deep in his jeans pockets and crossed his feet at his ankles.

"Thanks for the serendipitous rescue," he stage-whispered.

"Serendipitous?" I echoed with a s smile. "I honestly didn't even realize you were in distress."

"Oh, I was, I was," he assured me with exaggerated earnestness. "I was definitely a damsel in distress."

"A damsel, huh?" I chuckled.

"Well, maybe not a damsel. More like a dude in distress, and you were the dragon-slaying princess in…" His eyes took me in from the top of my head to the tip of my boots before meeting mine again, "in denim and leather as opposed to shining armor." When he shot me a wink, I felt a strange amalgamation of butterflies fluttering in bile. Clearing my throat, I dispelled the weird sensation.

"I was the female knight in denim and leather," I corrected with a smile. "We women don't always have to be the princesses."

He chuckled, hanging his head, his cheeks flushed when he looked back up. "Ahh, you're right. You're right."

"And I suppose that made Jessica…what? The dragon?"

"More like the cougar," he whispered.

Again, we shared a chuckle.

"And more power to her for it," I said.

"For sure, for sure. Though, I'll admit," he held my gaze, "I prefer female knights dressed in denim and leather." I felt my cheeks flame under his ensuing scrutiny, my heart racing. But it was all so…odd. Half of me felt like I was standing there, talking with Edward, while the other half was hyper-aware of all the ways that Tony was not Edward – namely, that one was flesh-and-blood alive while the other was a ghost.

Moreover, neither was it escaping my notice that Tony appeared to be flirting with me. In and of itself, that wasn't a big deal; flirting is what twenty-somethings do with one another, right? The big deal was that it was a mere hour or so since we'd first met.

Okay, maybe I was out of actual practice because that wasn't such a big deal either, at least until one contrasted it to how Edward's and my relationship developed. Within the first hours of our acquaintance, Edward tried to scare the ever-living hell out of me. It took weeks of begrudging acceptance of my presence in his house before the back-and-forth banter grew friendlier…before we grew closer…

I shook thoughts of Edward out of my head for now. At least, those types of thoughts of him. After all, it was for him that I had to speak with Tony to try to get to the bottom of a few things.

"Tony, I wanted to ask-"

"Bella, I was wondering if-"

Once again, we both chuckled.

"Please." Tony nodded, gesturing for me to go first.

"I wanted to ask if you'd mind grabbing coffee with me. I mean, I know you're in the middle of your work day-"

"Actually," Tony cut in with a lopsided grin, making my stomach somersault. Its slope was so familiar, the way one end rose so close to his cheek. It was unmistakably a familial smile. "I was just about to ask if you wanted to grab lunch with me." He looked at his watch, then back at me. "It's my lunch break. There's a great little café next door, so you wouldn't have to tread too much through the snow," he teased. "And you know, I could offer you my arm to hold on to, anyway."

I laughed. My gaze swept further down the store to where Rosalie completed Jessica's transaction. With a smirk, she returned the latter's credit card to her. Rosalie's eyes met mine, panned to Tony, and returned to me. She quirked a brow, and I quirked one in return. She offered me an almost imperceptible shrug whose meaning I failed to grasp.

Either way, I turned back to Tony with a wistful smile, pushing back the sensation of guilt, the feeling that this was somehow a betrayal. Because it wasn't. After all, Edward was a ghost. I was not. Though the few times when we'd come into close contact had left me feeling exhilarated, as if I were on a different, magical realm, as if I were floating on air, as if nothing else in the world mattered…the truth was that there couldn't be a future for Edward and me. And just the day before, Edward had made sure I understood that.

"Tony, I'd love to grab lunch with you."

A/N: Thoughts?

Don't worry, our favorite ghost will be back next chapter. ;)

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